


Long Has the Gold Been Gone

by GretchenSinister



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, M/M, Pre-Relationship, but it's literally a situation that could apply to zero human beings ever, kind of an incest-y vibe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "I love the duality between Sandy and Pitch in the film, the way they stand at antipodes from one another. It’s not quite cannon, but I love the idea of Pitch and Sandy being related somehow. I would really, really love to see someone explore a backstory for them. This particular idea is somewhat inspired by Bunnymund’s backstory from the books:Rather than being a single entity, The Dream Spirits were a race of silent Sand Men and Women who watched over the dreams of mankind and protected them from the Nightmare Men/Fearlings. Their language is one of signs, symbols, and quiet understanding, rather than of words and voices. Pitch (Then Kozmotis) and Sandy are of this race. They are brothers, Sandy being the elder of the two...[cut for length]"HEY SO. Several thousand years have done weird things to this relationship dynamic. Read: you know my main ship, you know what’s going to be implied here.After being shot, Sandy finds himself in the psyche of Pitch Black, or, as he hopes, Kozmotis. Kozmotis is there, sort of, because he needs to tell Sandy things he both does and doesn’t want to hear about the day fearlings apparently possessed him.
Relationships: Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie
Kudos: 5
Collections: Blacksand Short Fics





	Long Has the Gold Been Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 2/14/2016.
> 
> Here's the rest of the prompt: "At the hight of the Golden Age, the Fearlings and Nightmare men waged war on the Dream Spirits. The result was a massacre. Those who were not slaughtered were corrupted and turned into Fearlings, Nightmare Men/Women, and Demons. Kozmotis and Sandy are the only ones left standing, but their strength is quickly fading. In the end, Kozmotis is taken by the Fearlings. Rather than kill him, they corrupt him, destroying his memories. Powerless, Sandy must flea, the last of his kind.
> 
> The rest is history. The Dream Spirit turned Nightmare assumed the name “Pitch Black”, led the Fearlings in their climb to power, and was made their king. He reigned for many centuries before being cast into the shadows by the newly appointed Guardians, among which is, of course, brother Sandy.
> 
> +Pitch, like Sandy, is mute until he becomes corrupted and is given a voice by the Fearlings.  
> ++ Some exploration on Sandy’s feelings (having failed to save his brother from the Fearlings, and now having to fight against him)  
> +++ The other Guardians have no idea Sandy and Pitch are brothers; Sandy keeps that fact to himself"

Sandy is, in many senses, nowhere. But in others, he knows there is only one place he could be. A dangerous place for the being known as Pitch Black, but what of Kozmotis? Perhaps this was the only way he could think of to—perhaps he could still think—then he must have been right, all along, and Kozmotis must still be here! He feels like he stands up in the blank, black void that surrounds him, and ignores the little worm of shame that twists in him as his hopes grow. That creature, and the thoughts that birthed it, will be much easier to stamp out once he finds his brother here, finds him in a form like himself, not the terrible slender tower of the Nightmare King.  
  
His search soon brings him out of formlessness, and he seems to walk silently through a house unlike any of those of Earth. For one, there is no ceiling, and for another, the walls are no more than sheets of the thinnest, finest fabric. They hang loosely, but straight down, unmoving even with Sandy’s passage. This doesn’t trouble him. There is no ceiling and the fine cloth of the walls doesn’t move for the same reason as his footsteps are silent. There is no air here, no rain, and even day and night are nothing more than long, slow shifts in the brightness of the starlight that pours in. The Sand People need only starlight and the sand of their world.  
  
They had been wonders even among all the marvels of the Golden Age, as some had called it.  
  
The Sand People had not called it that. They were already golden, were they not?  
  
They were.  
  
But not anymore. Now, there is no one left, and Sandy hears no thoughts, sees no shapes of sand swirling behind the walls, to show that his people are here and talking to each other. The pale gold of the stone floor is gone, too, as are the delicate and varied colors of the hanging walls. They have all gone to gray, but Sandy does not find this cause to kill his hope. If it is devastating to see the colors of this place gone, it is cause to rejoice that it is remembered at all.  
  
It is not Sandy’s mind that is creating this space, he knows this well enough. He has no power where he is, and the house and its halls are much emptier, much larger than he knows them to have been in reality. This place must come from Kozmotis. There is no one else to remember this place.  
  
If it is a fearling reproduction of a stolen memory, Sandy feels sure he would know. He must! He could not be fooled by such creatures, not after so many long years battling their illusions.  
  
Kozmotis must be here.  
  
Sandy reaches the end of the hallway, or at least the place where the wall in front of him must be passed through in order to proceed. There is a shadow behind it, but not the shadow of a fearling.  
  
The wall is even softer than he remembers as he brushes it aside.  
  
 _Hello_ , the figure within signs. _I knew you would not be destroyed._  
  
Sandy cannot guide his sand into a single shape. He knew Kozmotis was here, wanted him to be here, but seeing him again, even in gray as the rest of the world around them, almost shatters him. It has been thousands of years since he last saw him truly, as one of the Sand People. He is a little taller than Sandy, a little less plump—the difference accentuated by the thinness of the draping clothes he wears. His hands and feet are much larger. As one of the Sand People, his nose makes his face resemble an owl’s more than an eagle’s. He had never been the more beautiful of the two brothers, or so people had said, but at seeing him the cascades of sand that serve the Sand People for weeping fan from Sandy’s face in joy.  
  
He is wonderful, wonderful, and nothing like that strange, skeletal wraith that formed when the fearlings pulled and twisted him. _I knew you could not have been destroyed either,_ he finally manages to sign.  
  
There is something of the wraith in his smile now, though, and even in this space of nothing Sandy feels ice and electricity writhe under his skin. _There are things I need to tell you. There are things you need to know that you already know,_ Kozmotis signs.  
  
 _How to free you!_ Sandy steps forward.  
  
But he stops.  
  
 _Do you not embrace me because you suspect this is a fearling trick?_ Kozmotis’ smile grows wider, and for a moment, Sandy could swear he had the wraith’s teeth. But that’s not right! Kozmotis had never looked like that, what were his teeth like, what were they…Kozmotis keeps signing and Sandy is glad to be distracted. _You would be wise, if that was the case. But that’s not why you hesitate._ He shrugs, and some of his gauzy clothing falls away. His flesh looks silver in this strange place. It is a common enough occurrence for the loose clothing of the sand people, not worthy of comment or of any notice at all.  
  
Sandy still looks away, but only after looking to remember.  
  
“My beautiful brother.” Kozmotis speaks with the voice of the wraith, and Sandy looks up, feeling sick and hot with humiliation. Then, “Please,” Kozmotis says, “we don’t have much time.” The wraith has never spoken like this. “I must tell you. You see me like this, you think that this means that your brother Kozmotis is somehow trapped here. But that’s not true. This image is not my memory of myself. It is your memory, and your fears. I can only be myself, and I am…Sandy, you think you saw Kozmotis become possessed by fearlings, long ago. But that isn’t quite true. They attacked me, and they twisted me, body and mind, but they did not, and never have, lived within me. There are no fearlings left, Sandy. I hated them for what they did to me. By the time we reached Earth…there was only me. I was changed from what I had been, and the worst of me was always at the surface—I could not live off starlight anymore—but I am still myself. I am still myself as much as you are.”  
  
And after millennia, what does that mean? _Why have you never told me this before?_  
  
He shakes his head and smirks. “Ability, opportunity, and impulse never coincided. And you see when they did—I had to take drastic measures.”  
  
Kozmotis’ face seems much more like the wraith’s, now. And Sandy finds it easier to read. _But that’s not all, is it?_  
  
“Isn’t it enough?” Kozmotis asks. He is taller than before, his bare flesh sparer. “But, let us remember. By the time we reached Earth and our paths crossed more frequently, the time allotted to our people to live had passed for both of us by thousands of years. The time allotted to us to be brothers was long gone. On Earth, I am sure I have not acted like your brother, I have not looked like your brother, I have not thought of you like…Sandy, it is not as brothers that we walk through this world. We are both different now. And I want you to know that…I do not think it makes sense for us to define ourselves in that way. I tell you now because I think…I think you’ve finally understood that, too.”  
  
 _If you had told me sooner how it was with you, I might have told the Guardians that we were brothers. To try to change you back to what you were. Even if you had told me there were no fearlings._  
  
“I was always the stranger, darker one,” Kozmotis, no, Pitch Black, says. “In my fragmented way I have wished for no one to think of us as brothers for longer than you have. When I felt your most secret fears, I knew I had to tell you. And so it is done.”  
  
Sandy makes no signs for a long, long time. _You have to let me go_ , he finally signs. _I can’t think here, with you standing in this remnant of the home we shared as children. You have to let me go so we can talk on Earth, where we are different from what we were. Whatever I have felt, I would have rather found Kozmotis, whole, imprisoned. I think. I don’t know! I would not have wanted him to have been trapped for so long by such creatures as the fearlings! But now. But now you are telling me he has been gone much longer than I realized. And if my shame is less, now, I still must mourn my brother again._  
  
“I hope you understand everything it means that I acquiesce,” Pitch says. “How much I want the things I could not obtain by simply keeping you here.”  
  
 _Yes,_ Sandy mouths, not bothering to sign. _I understand._

**Author's Note:**

> Tags from Tumblr:
> 
> #wow WTF is this on Valentine's Day?


End file.
